My Roger

Last year I was outside working in the garden when I found a baby bird.  He had fallen from the HUGE tree outside my house.  I felt sorry for the poor little creature so I went about making him a nest.

First I got a basket and after about 30 minutes of trying to build a nest I came up with this

 I still had to try and talk the little bird into the nest...by talking I mean I used a pair of tongs to carefully place him in the basket.  See I wasn't about to touch the thing even with gloves. My cold dead heart can only do so much.  Sneaky little guy was trying to hide from me.

If you look closely you can see the metal tongs I grabbed him with.

OK so you don't have to look that hard to see the tongs.  I feel that this little bird loved his home and that I was going to be the BEST bird caregiver ever (with the help of Ben because feeding it grossed me out) but my father felt differently. He went on a very comedic rant about how "it's just going to die soon," "It's mother left him" "I had no knowledge of raising a bird" and so on.  He even made a comment about how I'd get all attached and because I'd give it a name like Roger and be upset when it died.  So that is how the little guy got his name.  Roger was around for a few more hours and I realized what tough work raising a baby bird would be (mainly because I had no idea how) so we placed him back in the tree away from predators.  I like to believe he flew away somewhere and became the most wonderful father.  For the first few weeks after "he left" I would ask my dad whenever he said the prayer to say a special little prayer for Roger.  My days of rescuing birds or any animals are over.  They keep dying and it's just not fun.